Saturday, December 10, 2011

For the first time, in a long time, I've felt at peace. Likely, I'll jinx myself by saying this. But if I can talk about confusion and unhappiness with ease, this should be as natural.

I think Mini-Him's reaction to news of a sibling's arrival had something to do with it. He said, "It's true?!"
Him and I smiled and nodded.
"No! It's not true...," he insisted, and asked in a small voice, "is it?"
We laughed, because his eyes haven't stayed open that wide in some years, around the time he was four and he knelt by the fireplace, looking up the chimney for Santa's boots on Christmas Eve.

pic credit - Sujin Jetkasettakorn; freedigitalphotos.net

"Oh...oh I'm so glad Mom!!! I'm so proud of you!!" he said, grabbing me in a dance, suddenly stopping, and he said, "Oh, and Baby, I don't care if you're a boy or a girl, I'm just glad you're here!"

I was a quivering mass of sentiment by the time he was done and had to escape, in a hurry, to the bathroom to cry, and to take care of that other urgent thing that hits expectant moms without notice. By the time I had returned, he had a notebook open, with Boy on one page, and Girl, on the other. He'd put down a few names and urged us to put our choices down. I really didn't know what to say. Just uttered a deep prayer for Mini-Him's well being and offered many thanks to the one above.

Him didn't know what to say either, and was his manly self, except when he'd hug Mini-Him and kiss him like he used to when Mini-Him was a baby (smacking kisses on both cheeks and one on the forehead for good measure).

After that revelation, something settled down inside.

I'd also mentioned needing to let go of past memories in a previous post. I've used lots of ink and paper. And something startling I found, was that most hurtful memories had something to do with not being heard or understood. And most positive memories had something to do with being able to express my thoughts and feelings. It rarely, if ever, had anything to do with concrete slights. I seemed to have brushed those off easily. Also, the memories of Mini-Him's awful emergencies seem to have burrowed deep. I think those point to some concrete fear. But otherwise, it's my own view of other's thought processes about me. Or actions toward me. None of which I have any control over! So now, there is new understanding of "that's not really my problem."

Not in a dismissive, uncaring fashion. But truly, as an aspect of relationships that I could never have controlled or changed. In fact, it's none of my business what goes on in another human's head. So there. If they appeared not to have heard me or didn't care, there was a missing element. A wordy bridge to understanding doesn't untangle the issue; i.e; a lack of interest in exchange that leaveseveryone feeling fulfilled.

An inordinate number of fears have escaped a regular weeding process. It's freeing to sort through this. Hopefully I'll get somewhere.

Then, there are childhood memories. So real that it becomes easy to overlap time lines. It's easy to confuse frames. I've found myself looking into my father's camera lens as my six year old self posed in front of a sunset, wearing my favorite skirt. Suddenly, my baby brother is stumbling alongside Mom, as we walk him back from his first day at school. I've been as I was, when I saw Him for the first time, honey colored skin warming further in the sunlight. Without notice, I'm with a friend looking at Mini-Him days after he is born. The warmth of dusky desert evenings to crisp Californian winters to balmy Panamanian Christmases. These are difficult to let go. I don't want to.

But the undercurrent of longing has to go.

It's pointless to want something you've already had, right?

For now, it's gratitude, plain and simple, for all that was and for all the hope that we still nurture.

I presented an abridged finding of my 'paper and ink' research to Him. He listened, loving his shredded wheat with dry fruit cereal more than my monologue. But he listened.